


Meow Do I Live Without You

by orphan_account



Category: Donnie Wahlberg - Fandom, KittyQueen of DeNial
Genre: Back-Stabbing, Delusions, Exposed, Other, Pettiness, Revenge, Temptation, emotional adultery, liars, probablyalotmore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8162869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ansus, the Queen of DeNial (a little-known town somewhere in New Hampshire) has had a 'special friendship' with Donnie for years.However, things aren't always what they seem, and, even when they are, things are subject to change.What goes around...





	

How could this be happening?

Ansus had squeezed herself into her best dress, painted her face like a French whore, and stood outside the venue, waiting. One of D's assistants was supposed to bring her tickets; they just HAD to.

The tix hadn't been waiting at the service desk like all the other times. None of her friends had gotten comp tickets, either. Something was obviously very wrong. Some dark forces must be afoot, keeping her emotional boyfriend from coming to her rescue.

I mean, sure, he'd fought with her over her hatred of his wife; sure, she'd been posting profiles on dating sites behind her hubby's back, craving the attention D had stopped giving her; sure, she'd run her mouth to dozens of fans about their 'special bond', texting, dropping hints about 'someone' on Twitter, spending time with him without paying for it, and so on, but she was different. The rules didn't apply to her. If she had to tattle on other girls to curry favor, or lie, or cheat, or ditch her son, her home, her job and all of her responsibilities to spend time with him and get yet another photo of his sour puss as he tried not to roll his eyes, well, that was what real love was all about, wasn't it? She was devoted to him. He'd want to see her. He'd HAVE to give her tickets; it was the only way they got to spend time together these days.

He'd married another mouthy, opinionated Scorpio blonde in her 40s with an autistic son; didn't that prove he wanted HER? She typed in the phone number again, the one she told everyone was no longer his. It rang and rang, and the voicemail inbox was full.

The minutes ticked by. Maybe he was waiting til the crowds thinned out, so no one would see her getting special treatment. That had to be it.

She tried DMing him, but there was no reply. Ansus considered tweeting him; I mean, all of her followers already knew he loved her, so it wasn't exactly a secret. Her account was locked; what harm could it do?

Loved her. Yes. It was true. She clung to that knowledge. She was his favorite girl, and he'd be loving her forever. She could shit in her hand and rub it in his face, and he'd just ask for more. Right?

It was cold; Ansus had neglected to bring a cover-up. She made a move towards the venue doors, but they were now locked. The show was starting.

Oh well. Maybe he was saving the tickets and star treatment for the after-party. She *always* got into VIP. It would be so sweet, sitting practically in his lap, getting his sweat all over her while the other girls glared. Perhaps he hadn't wanted Ansus to be too close to the wife in the crowd; after all, the Mrs. was probably majorly threatened by her presence.

Two hours would be over in no time.

\-----------------------------------

The others in her usual clique had whooped it up at the show - having bought their tickets. Ansus shivered as most of the fans filed out of the venue, still on a high. She made her way inside, looking for a friendly face.

Where were they?

A drunk girl was crying, her friend consoling her.

"What's the matter?," Ansus asked, playing the saint. BH sisterhood, yada yada yada.

"They're gone! They got on their buses and left!"

Her blood ran cold. "What?"

The sober friend snapped, "The New Kids. They rounded up a few fans, herded them onto the buses, and took off. Some 'after party.'"

Ansus' blood heated considerably, reaching boiling point in no time. "Where are they having the party?"

"On the damn buses, stupid! They're headed for the airport. Hope everyone has a ride back from there."

With that, the two fans headed off into the night.

Ansus fingered her wrist, feeling the absence of that VIP bracelet. There were no more tour dates on the east coast. This had been her last real chance.

When she sent a new DM, it bounced back. She started hitting the redial button and wouldn't stop, repeating the move each time the call was rejected.  
Finally, *she* answered. Ansus threw up in her mouth a little.

"What?!?"

"I.. This is.. uh.."

"I KNOW who this is. WHY are you blowing up my husband's phone?"

"I.. I.."

"I know all about what you did. You've screwed so many people through the years. Your bullshit ride on the VIP train is over."

Ansus tried to speak, tears filling her eyes. "What I did?"

The Mrs. started running down the list, naming names, dates, specific lies and acts of betrayal. "Should I continue?"

Ansus almost dropped the phone. Her heart was breaking. It physically hurt.

"Lose this number, or I will expose you!"

So cold when the second-hand glow fades, when the overspill from the spotlight has moved on. It was a long, lonely trip home, but as she drove, she began to look forward to getting back to normal. Everyone would feel so sorry for her, especially after she made up an elaborate sob story about why she missed all the fun.

The house was empty. There was a note, along with divorce papers, which she held with trembling hands. 

"For putting HIM and all those other men first.." Reason after reason, each one ricocheting off the walls of her heart like a live round.

Ansus collapsed to the floor, feeling utterly alone. She eventually passed out, waking up just in time to drag herself to work.

On the way there, she got a phone call. Few words were said, but the gist of it was, she no longer had a job, either. Something about dishonesty and fraud, spending too much work time tweeting... blah blah blah. They just didn't understand her. She was different. She was sensitive; she was a poetic soul, a spiritual person, an introspective, introverted, delicate flower. She was a discreet, classy fucking LADY, damn it. She quoted Whitman; she posted Bible verses. They weren't like her. They didn't have a love like she had; how could they understand the bond she and Donnie shared? 

Screw work. She didn't need them. Ansus had friends; they'd help. Maybe her 'special' friend would pay her bills.

None of her friends were returning her calls or texts. Finally, after hours of pestering them, she got her answers, one by one:

"'Someone' wants me to stop associating with you."

"We can't tweet each other anymore.."

"I've unfriended you on fb. You know why; you'd do the same.."

"Sorry, Ansus. This is my best hope of getting a 'special bond' with him. You understand."

So bitter, tasting one's own medicine. How much had she given up in her pursuit of him? How many people had she cut down, climbed over, or dropped? 

Ansus was completely on her own.

\--------------------------------------

Time became blurred, until one day she woke up, feeling as clear as she ever had. As Ansus looked around at the soft white walls, she sighed. This was where she belonged. There was sunlight, and, between the bars on the window, she could see butterflies bussing gently around other patients' heads. There was basket-weaving, and poetry class using crayons (no sharp pens or pencils). There were Waffle Wednesdays. She was safe here; no one would ever come between her and Donnie again. He lived inside her, in her mind, forever. They were as one, just as destiny had ordained. 

"Love eternal," she murmured, rocking herself as the restrictive garment made her hug her own person. "Love eternal." She stopped chanting just long enough to swallow her pills. Donnie loved nurses, she mused, laughing.

Together forever.

-End


End file.
